


Tabula Rasa

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alien Invasion, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Ficlet Collection, Fist Fights, Flashbacks, M/M, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Possible Character Death, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Relationship(s), Scout Regiment, Self-Sacrifice, Slow Build, Survival, Survival Horror, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:32:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Tabula Rasa:the clean slate in which all individuals are born from. We are no farther from the truth than we are from lies, but the honesty that compels comes from living out our lives.





	1. The Shot Heard Around The World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdlife4eva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlife4eva/gifts).



> I began planning this story late last year at around mid-October. The idea came to me in a form of a dream, and I began world-building for it ever since. During the past few months of outlining, drawing up character profiles, and keeping this project relatively unknown for a while, I finished outlining this project about a few days ago. The formatting for this story will be weird.
> 
> At times, it’ll feel like short ficlets strung together. At other times, it’ll be in a more /traditional/ story format. For comfort sake, each chapter will be treated as a ficlet so it’ll alleviate pressure from my mind. I was inspired by Pacific Rim and by the fact that I never wrote an apocalypse story, despite my joy for reading them, so the world-build for this story was fulfilled some of my writing goals. I like to think Nerdlife4eva for helping me develop the story while it was in its outline-stage.

Viktor was nineteen when he first held a gun. His finger froze over the trigger, his breath hitched at the back of his throat when he looked into the eyes of his Captain. Minako sighed her last breath. Her hands rose into the air slowly. Her composure never faltered before her Angel of Death, and Viktor was that angel. Whether he liked it or not, he had to shoot. 

Minako had nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide. She was pinned against the wall because Viktor led her here, and she was proud. Out of all the people that could’ve killed her, Viktor had come closer than any individual that Minako had the pleasure in meeting. Here on her last stand, Minako wondered if she should close her eyes. She had heard that dying was quicker than falling asleep, but was that true?

Minako never felt more awake than when she was in front of a gun.

She seized the barrel of Viktor’s gun. She snapped it upwards and turned it over. Viktor’s eyes followed the bullet’s exit. The hole skimmed down his forehead, just across his right eye, and aimed at the heart of his chest. Minako jammed Viktor’s fingers off from the handle, and the firearm rested in her hands.

Even though Viktor wasn’t pinned against a wall, he couldn’t move. When Minako jerked the gun, Viktor raised his hands. The confident ponytail that cloaked over his shoulders spilled and trailed down the length of his back. The confidence that had stunned Minako faded like the blood in Viktor’s face. He stood before the barrel of Death, but Minako have him a merciful end.

She lowered her gun and shot Viktor’s thigh. Instead of blood, Viktor’s thigh bled blue from the paintball that flew out. Viktor didn’t fall back, despite the pain. He kept his stance, and it earned him a tip.

_ “Kill before you’re killed. Easy to remember, right?”  _ Minako lifted the paintball gun again. She showed Viktor how to properly hold it so that no one could snatch it easily. Minako loosened her grip just enough so that Viktor could steal back his firearm. He copied what Minako had done to him, with less success than he wanted. However, Minako had a good laugh before roping Viktor under her arm.  _ “You still have a long way to go. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” _

  
  


Viktor remembered those words when he held a gun, later on in life. He didn’t have any bullets, but holding the firearm eased Viktor’s mind. All around him, fresh recruits with their unblemished faces and minds were stirring up trouble. Mainly ruckus and bets on who would kill an alien first, on who would die first, and on who would be heartbroken first. Nine years ago, a trip like this to a small training base was met with silence from all sides.

Viktor’s peers were the guinea pigs, thrusted into a war that stole everything from them. But these kids,  _ and Viktor was honest about it,  _ these kids grew up in the war. They grew up with rations and alarms, aware that there was a greater threat beyond the skyline. Instead of a hardened heart, these kids made jokes about everything. Whether it was to ease their minds or not, Viktor had to hold his gun to keep himself from hurting someone.

When the military aircraft flew past the Indian Ocean, everyone had to strap in and sit down. Of course, the rowdier kids followed their own protocols and roped others into the disruptive ring. One of them waved around a gun, and Viktor was damn sure that there were bullets inside. Viktor tore out from his seat.

_ Oohs  _ and  _ Ahhs  _ blurred behind Viktor’s ears when he approached the fool with the gun. A sandy-haired girl, no older than sixteen, pointed her gun at Viktor. A lazy finger hovering over the trigger.

“If you have a complaint, kiss my ass.” Her last few words were brushed by the curls in her hair. A choir of voices escalated the playful tease until the color in Viktor’s eyes faded.

He twisted the girl’s gun upwards and spun the firearm. The girl's eyes followed the barrel as it skimmed down her forehead, just over her nose, and aimed straight to her heart. Her gun rested comfortably in Viktor’s hands.

His never raised his voice. “Sit down and strap in.”

The girl didn't argue, not with her gun pointed at her chest. She sat down, and the click of her seat belt was like music to Viktor’s ears. Silence and plenty of stares surrounded him, but Viktor didn’t care. He pulled out the magazine catch and slowly disassembled the gun before the girls’ eyes. Viktor didn’t have to look at his hands anymore. His fingers remembered from muscle-memory, and because Minako was adamant that all of her recruits should know their gun. Inside and out, forward and backwards, from the smallest piece to the whole that it was meant to be.

Every piece of that gun fell into the girl’s lap before Viktor returned to his seat. For the first time since his flight out from the main base in Moscow, Viktor could finally sleep.


	2. Truth Behind The Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who tell the most lies can spot them easier from someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t expect that the next update would be this large, but it was fun. I’m a little extra, so I made a  [ tune ](https://yuuris-piano.tumblr.com/post/169654012176/tabula-rasa-the-clean-slate-in-which-all) for this story.

A week  prior, his footsteps offered a reassuring rhythm for his mind to focus on when Viktor was called out from the clinic. It was for a checkup, that was what Dr. Crispino told him. However, the edge of her thumb folded the corners on her clipboard. Her nails scratched against her pencil, but Viktor looked forward when Dr. Crispino turned her head just a bit.

Her eyes, her smile, and the dimples under her cheeks spoke of good intentions. Perhaps, Viktor was getting a new plan for his physical therapy. Perhaps, he was getting healthier. Viktor believed so when he tightened his left hand into a fist. His muscles and the tension up his arm felt natural. They were promising signs that he was getting better and yet, Dr. Crispino’s compliment when she noticed those things felt so... _ mechanical. _

Her face was bright, her smile looked so real, but her voice was flat. Her voice sounded dry, and she covered it up with a laugh to help Viktor smile. Viktor cracked a smile as well, but he did so to make her happy. This didn’t feel like a regular checkup. Why was Dr. Crispino taking him away from the clinic? Sure, Viktor was shuffling his feet across the training room because the  _ real  _ clinic was full beyond capacity, but where was Dr. Crispino taking him?

They passed by cots filled with squirming soldiers.

There was a man nursing what was left of his arm from the elbow down. Three cots away, a woman squeezed a rag between her teeth to stop the pain. Something was ripping her insides apart, ready to burst, but the hovering doctors told her that she was going to be okay. That whatever was killing her from the inside was going to be dead. Have patience, but what kind of sentiment was that towards a woman who was writhing over her sheets, wondering if today was her last. She wanted to say goodbye to those she loved.

There was a soldier lying under his covers, sobbing about the partner he had to leave behind. He cursed himself for being so stupid. If he had been a second sooner, his friend,  _ and perhaps his lover, _ wouldn’t have died. He was an inch away from lifting her out of a hole before an alien ripped her at the seams. A radiant smile turned red when her legs suddenly dangled above her head. Her upper body peeled off from the edge of the hole. Her broken smile haunted the soldier as he bawled into his pillow.

His wails trickled to the back of Viktor’s mind. Viktor’s dog tags jangled against his chest louder than they should’ve when he followed Dr. Crispino.

A fake smile plastered across his lips. A fake shine to his eyes when Dr. Crispino spoke of how proud she was of Viktor. Fake enthusiasm in her voice when Dr. Crispino talked about the weather.

It was raining outside. More than a third of the soldiers sent out early that afternoon died. Half of the soldiers that came back were injured. The other half were at the barracks. Wondering what they could’ve done, what they should’ve done.

Dr. Crispino pushed back a door and gestured Viktor to follow her. The door closed softly behind Viktor, and he stood in the darkness with Dr. Crispino. They were in a hallway, alone. The only light came from an exit sign, illuminating thirteen feet away.

“I’m happy to report that you’re recovering faster than expected.” Dr. Crispino drummed her fingers against her clipboard. “You’ll be out in the field soon.”

_ You’ll be out to die soon. _

Viktor bit his bottom lip. “That’s great.” He managed a small chuckle to lighten the mood. He heard Dr. Crispino laugh, but it was short.

“We’ll find you a partner, but it’ll take some time.”

_ No one wants to go out there. _

“I can work solo for the meantime,” Viktor suggested. His thumb grazed the door handle next to him. The cold metal linked him to reality when all he heard were lies. Dr. Crispino could’ve had a convincing front if her voice wasn’t riddled with holes. Every word she said contradicted the actual ones that hung in the silence above her and Viktor. Viktor’s ears tuned to the silence, and Dr. Crispino spoken words came to him like a blur.

“Some of the Captains were talking and…” Dr. Crispino’s voice tapered off when she thumbed through her notes. It was just background noise, something to convince Viktor that she wasn’t stalling for time. “The amount of praise they had for you was insurmountable.”

_ I’m cutting you loose. _

Viktor’s breath was hitched to the back of his throat. “They... _ what?” _

The following minute was the longest minute Viktor had ever endured as a soldier. The silence of a Captain, the silence over a radio, the silence for a fallen comrade, and the silence at the back of his mind didn’t come close to the silence Viktor felt now. All of Dr. Crispino’s sentences were translated into their true meanings in Viktor’s mind.

The base needed space. Anybody that didn’t need immediate care was to be weeded out by the doctors. It a soldier was deemed unnecessary, a training base was the end of the road for them. For how long? Well, just enough before they were needed again when all the new soldiers were dead, mangled, or crying in their sleep because of a damn mistake.

The word  _ Expendable  _ was stamped across Viktor’s forehead. Protest bubbled up his throat, but Viktor didn’t say anything. Dr. Crispino was still convinced that he didn’t know the truth. So despite what he truly felt, Viktor backed out from what he wanted to say.

“The Captains were impressed with your record, and they want you to share your tips and experiences with--”

_ “Sara.” _ Viktor stood tall, even though he was a crumbling man.  _ “I can still fight.” _

Dr. Crispino adjusted her glasses with the tip of her thumb. “I know you can.”

Out of everything she had said, that was her one and only truth.

Viktor lowered his head. He blinked and tears welled up in his eyes. Viktor gritted his teeth to steady his breathing. Dr. Crispino reached out and touched his arm. She told him it was okay to cry. She told Viktor that she was proud of him. This time, those words were true when Dr. Crispino dropped her clipboard and embraced Viktor. Viktor squeezed her back. He buried his face into the crook of Dr. Crispino’s shoulder. His tears stained her white coat, and Dr. Crispino gently shushed into Viktor’s ear.

They stayed like this for what felt like hours before Dr. Crispino was forced to let Viktor go.

  
  


There may’ve been one, legit doctor in the entire base back in Moscow, but at least there were fifty other individuals helping out in the packed clinic and training room. At Base 51 in Singapore, there was only one doctor, and Viktor used ‘doctor’  _ loosely. _

The professional in question carried with him a plush poodle, a Frankenstein of a plush with mismatch textures, colors, and a pair of googly eyes. The professional in question strolled across an elevated platform with bare feet. The ends of his pants folded under his heels for padding. The professional in question was soft-spoken, and he kept pulling his white coat up because his shoulders weren’t large enough for his uniform.

If anything, Viktor wouldn’t be surprised if this ‘doctor’ was also a new recruit. And now for the length of his stay, Viktor had to entrust his life and health to an amateur. Viktor was aware that training bases usually had fresh faces for their positions, but having an amateur as the only medical personnel in the entire base was ridiculous.

Viktor stood in life for his checkup, along with forty other recruits. The line moved slowly because the ‘doctor’ was basically building a new medical file from scratch. Viktor couldn’t hear what the ‘doctor’ was saying, but the chit chat that he had with his patients could’ve been shorter.

The ‘doctor’ always maintained his distance from the other recruits. He always sat in a little chair while the recruits, one by one, stripped down to their undershirts and pants and sat on an examiner’s table on the other side of the elevated platform. There was no interaction, besides words. It wouldn’t faze Viktor if some recruits exaggerated their physical prospects for a bit of an ego gain, and the ‘doctor’ wouldn’t be any wiser.

Sighing under his breath, VIktor dragged his belongings when the line began to move. He was one person away from his checkup, and then he’ll be led to the barracks, to which he’ll call ‘home’. ‘Home’ was one of the few words that stumped Viktor’s heart when it was his turn to come forward. Hoisting his belongings onto his shoulders, Viktor went up the steps to the elevated platform and laid his bags under the examiner’s table.

As soon as the ‘doctor’ saw Viktor, he picked up an old, well-handled record of Viktor’s medical history. It was in its own pile, separate from the newer folders meant for the recruits. Viktor unbuttoned out from his gray uniform, assuming that this checkup would only take two or three minutes. At most.

When Viktor sat on the edge of the examiner’s table, the ‘doctor’-- _ or rather, Dr. Katsuki-- _ laid Viktor’s medical records to the side. In the ten seconds that the records were in his hands, Dr. Katsuki didn’t open the folder. He merely folded with his corner as his eyes trailed from Viktor’s dog tags to the teal behind his eyes.

“Viktor Nikiforov, Base 69 of Moscow.” Dr. Katsuki rubbed his cheek against his poodle plush when Viktor nodded.

It wasn’t something to be too proud of, but Viktor kept the comment to himself. He knew that a list was passed amongst the doctors of old faces popping up in new training bases. What Dr. Katsuki had just recited was basic information. Nothing special that would change Viktor’s initial impression of him for the better. For the worse, Dr. Katsuki reminded Viktor of the hooligans he had the pleasure of flying with for the past ten hours.

However, for the meantime, Viktor entertained Dr. Katsuki. He played along with the little questions and attempts at chit chat that crept from Dr. Katsuki’s lips. Whether it was about the weather, a description of an alien, or just background information on what Viktor did in Moscow. Viktor kept his responses short, but they were polite and almost airy for the most part. For Dr. Katsuki’s first day on the job, Viktor made himself manageable. There was no point in putting up a front unless it was necessary, and Viktor wondered how Dr. Katsuki was going to endure his position.

Basic training began tomorrow, and the worst injuries were typically within the first hour. Would Dr. Katsuki crack? Would he break? Would he crawl into a corner and cry? Viktor was curious as he tugged at the neckline of his undershirt.

His left hand reached for it, but his fingers were more or less responsive than they should’ve been. Viktor complimented Dr. Katsuki’s poodle plush, and it distracted the ‘doctor’ just long enough so that Viktor could lower his left hand slowly.

With the distance between them, Viktor didn’t notice the brief flicker of attention from Dr. Katsuki when he watched Viktor move.

“In the past year, have you been in the clinic for any major injuries?”

Viktor cocked his head to the side. “Just for routine checkups.” His voice didn’t waver, even though his heart was beating fast. The sudden shift in the conversation heightened Viktor’s alertness. Why was he growing defensive?

Squishing his poodle plush’s ears, Dr. Katsuki got up from his chair. The distance between him and Viktor shortened with every step forward until Dr. Katsuki stood about a meter away from Viktor. His steps were small, almost a bounce to every movement. Dr. Katsuki was prepared to bolt in the opposite direction if Viktor charged in with an offensive front. So far so good. Viktor seemed to relax after the first step, but his breaths were as short as they came. His eyes were trained to Dr. Katsuki’s shuffling feet, all the better while Dr. Katsuki examined his patient.

Viktor was built for combat. He was a machine. Viktor could’ve been a decorated foot-soldier but from the start of the conversation, Viktor had told Dr. Katsuki that he was a pilot. His main job was to transfer shipments and people to different bases along the battle front.

Up close like this, Dr. Katsuki noticed the scars along Viktor’s left arm. They were faded but under certain angles of light, they shone prominently. Those weren’t scars of a pilot. Dr. Katsuki didn’t believe that Viktor had lied to him, but there was something that refused to surface over the strength and careful dignity that Viktor had pieced together for this performance. By crossing his arms, Viktor truly believed that he had himself under a lock and key.

Dr. Katsuki dropped his smile. “Can I be honest with you for a moment?”

Despite the ease in his shoulders and the curiosity brimming on his surface, Viktor averted his gaze from Dr. Katsuki. From the corner of his eye, Viktor reassured himself that no one was focused to the platform.

_ “Viktor.” _

Viktor snapped his attention back to Dr. Katsuki. The cinnamon eyes behind a pair of wired spectacles noticed every twitch and secret that Viktor tried to hide. Viktor had fallen off from his perch, and Dr. Katsuki was gaining ground with every word that struck a chord.

“Do you think you’re a  _ Pawn  _ because your role as a  _ Knight  _ is over?”

“Aren’t I?” Viktor propped his arms behind him for support when he leaned forward against the examiner’s table. “The only reason why I’m here is because my doctor--”

_ “Don’t blame your doctor,” _ Dr. Katsuki hissed between his teeth. Viktor didn’t flinch at the change in tone, but his hands tightened into fists. Anger coiled around up and around Viktor’s throat, fracturing what little control he had left.

“Then, my body? Myself, for not trying--?”

“How are you going to rest if all you do is try?”

Their voices never rose above a casual volume. The worst that Viktor and Dr. Katsuki could deliver to each other were in hisses or whispers. Viktor panted because he was shouting at a void, and Dr. Katsuki seemed to have only heard the truth behind Viktor’s lies.

“If you keep overworking your arm, you’re not going to recover properly.” Dr. Katsuki lifted his plush’s front paw, the  _ left  _ one for emphasize and waved it at Viktor. “Nerve damage takes time to heal, and overloading your nerves is going to short-circuit your recovery. Do you want a sling or another surgery when your arm gives out?”

Viktor parted his lips to protest, but not a sound came out.

“Take things one step at a time.” Dr. Katsuki took a slow step away from Viktor. “Practice holding and lifting a cup of water until the movement is comfortable for you to do. You’ve been drinking with your right hand, haven’t you?” A familiar smile returned to Dr. Katsuki’s lips when Viktor nodded. “It feels weird when you’re left-handed, right?”

“How do you know that?” Viktor narrowed his eyes. Dr. Katsuki shrugged.

“We tend to adjust ourselves with our dominant hand, so I took a guess.” With that, the checkup was over. Viktor slipped back into his uniform and lifted his bags. His gaze lingered on Dr. Katsuki for what felt like a minute before he looked away. Dr. Katsuki felt his stare, but he didn’t say anything.


	3. More than Meets the Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late that afternoon, Viktor discovers the aircraft hangar and confronts bits about his past.

On the farthest end of Base 51, where the West jumped from concrete to the Java Sea on the southside, there were planes. For a humble training base nestled amongst others in the Indonesian region, one storage plane was enough. It was smaller than what Viktor was used to, but it didn’t have to fly all around the world with manpower and supplies. Viktor walked under a wing, his fingertips reached up and grazed over the bolted metal. The touch felt the same as to his old aircraft, the  _ VN-9,  _ and Viktor could almost taste the gunpowder and the smog that this smaller model hadn’t experienced yet. So did his tongue remember the taste of Moscow’s battlefront, so did his ears.

Though Viktor was alone, he heard a barrage of footsteps. Boots thundering down the hallway. Men and women, taking arms. Propellers spinning off to the horizon as planes drove out to the sky. Shouts, radio signals, and curses when an engine failed. Curses, when an aircraft was shot dead by friendly fire. Curses, when a flying piece of flesh ripped into the hull of a plane and tore the pilot or pilots out and ate them. Yes, that was the first time anyone knew that some aliens could fly. Yes, Viktor found himself in those same conditions when he shot down the bastards with his partner at the time.

The screeches echoed in the back of Viktor’s mind when he re-emerged from under the plane’s wing. The  _ thud-thud-thud  _ of bullets flying over his head, that sound used to plague Viktor’s dreams. And now, he heard it during one of the safest hours of his life. Viktor reached for his left arm. It tensed under his touch. It didn’t shatter, splinter, or crumble apart. Viktor was living in the present, even if his mind reminded him of the past.

He was fine, standing upright and admiring an aircraft hangar. Not writhing under his sheets, digging his teeth into a wood block as Dr. Crispino reassembled every little bone in his left arm. Viktor thought that he had already blocked that memory, years ago. It appeared that everything that Viktor had built to protect himself was crumbling, ever since he encountered Dr. Katsuki.

Distracting himself, Viktor admired the four or five helicopters, lined in a row near the runway’s exit. More peaceful memories returned to Viktor when he left the storage plane behind. Mounted to every helicopter were a pair of machine guns, pointing out from the sides.

Viktor knew that he couldn’t touch, but his eyes scanned and admired every polish and detail. The triggers were clean, unblemished by a sweaty finger or an itchy glove. Was Viktor that close to a machine gun? Yes, he was. Viktor was so close that he could easily climb up a helicopter’s leg and sit on its left. His hands would mold over the grip bar of the nearest machine gun, and Viktor could pretend to shoot.

Or if he wanted to, Viktor could’ve shot. The ammunition belt hung down the firearm and trailed to somewhere in the back of the helicopter. The scene reeked of temptation, but Viktor kept his distance. Actually, Viktor didn’t realize that his hands were on a machine gun until he pulled them off.

Footsteps were approaching the hangar. Perhaps, they belonged to an instructor. Perhaps, a pilot was coming in to inspect their aircraft. Perhaps, it was best for Viktor to slide off the helicopter now. Say that he was admiring the helicopters through his eyes alone, and maybe. Just maybe, the pilot would deliver the news to someone in charge, and Viktor would find himself on a plane to Moscow.

That would be the dream, but the dream slid off VIktor’s smile when he caught the rustle of Dr. Katsuki’s white coat. Still barefoot as he walked around the base, Dr. Katsuki held a steaming mug of water in his hands. Every now and then, he brought the rim up to his lips. Much like a child drinking hot chocolate, except hot chocolate and almost every other sweet went extinct fourteen years ago.

Viktor sat where he was, just a foot away from a machine gun, and his eyes followed Dr. Katsuki. The man came for something peculiar, not for the armed helicopters or to touch the base of a plane’s wing. But from the overhanging windows along the hangar, gold and orange from the sunset pooled to one spot on the runway. Dr. Katsuki slowed in his steps when his skin touched the light. Hesitant at first to move forward, Viktor noticed that from the shadows of where he sat. But after his foot felt warm enough, Dr. Katsuki stepped his entire being under the light.

There, he stood and basked. A sigh just a quarter out from his lips when he enjoyed the warmth and the colors bathed all around him. It was the perfect moment for Viktor to slip out of the hangar while Dr. Katsuki was distracted but…

“Helicopters are pretty in their own way.”

Viktor froze, unsure if Dr. Katsuki was talking to him. The man had made no gesture or acknowledgement beforehand, so Dr. Katsuki was likely talking to himself. But he focused on helicopters, and Viktor was admiring them beforehand.

“Do you know what’s prettier?” Dr. Katsuki turned around. His eyes locked onto Viktor’s, as if to convey that Viktor was prettier than the weapons of war. However, the glance was merely a welcome when Dr. Katsuki scooted himself over, giving Viktor room so that he may bask under the sunset if he wanted to.

When Viktor entered the pool of light, Dr. Katsuki pointed up to a window. There was the sky. Unfazed, unblemished by pain. It was a sky dancing with all the hues from Nature’s paint-set, and the sun was the paintbrush. Where Viktor and Dr. Katsuki stood, they were in the “jar of water” that cleaned off the colors from the sun. But instead of being murky, everything was clear. Even Viktor’s shadow blended into the orange light from the sunset. It was as if the past that had been following him for all these years wasn’t a separate entity anymore, but a part of who Viktor was today.

“Every now and then, I find myself coming here when it’s noisy everywhere else.” Dr. Katsuki finished his drink. He didn’t say it, but Viktor almost heard:  _ I think that’s why you’re here, too. _

Viktor whispered an apology for earlier this morning, and Dr. Katsuki told Viktor that he was fine.

“You acted out because you weren’t used to all the changes. You had to vent.”

“I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” Viktor lowered his head. Dr. Katsuki placed his fingers underneath Viktor’s chin and lifted the soldier's head, slowly.

“The past is the past, and I’ve already forgiven you. So, don’t worry about it.” Dr. Katsuki pulled his fingers away from Viktor and gave him a salute.

Viktor showed Dr. Katsuki how to do a proper salute. Left arm at the side, right arm at a forty-five degree angle, and the right hand over the heart. Viktor went on to explain the significance behind the salute, but he stopped when Dr. Katsuki began to chuckle. Viktor realized that he was holding Dr. Katsuki, moving the man’s arms every which way for the proper salute. Part of Viktor didn’t want to let go, but he had to be professional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m preparing a oneshot for Valentine’s Day, so I won’t be able to update this story on a consistent schedule for 2 or 3 weeks. Originally, this chapter was going to focus on training as well as introducing some of the aliens and the other YoI characters used in this verse. However, with time constraints, I wanted to work on something easier as I formulate my thoughts for my Valentine’s oneshot.
> 
> Thank you for enjoying this story and for supporting its continuation. I can’t wait to introduce some of the aliens I have planned. :D

**Author's Note:**

> You can check out my other 2018 project, [Mer!Ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12738711/chapters/29051325), on my Ao3 page and you’re free to discuss or chit-chat about aliens with me on Tumblr, @yuuris-piano.


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